


A pilgrim to remember

by WahlBuilder



Series: Scarves and Mittens [12]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gift Giving, Sanguine being bitter, and drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-12 02:46:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9052153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Renpet is a humble servant of Lord Dagon, and their duty is to look after the Skyrim Shrine of their Lord. All sorts of people visit that Shrine, but one happens to be very unusual.





	

Renpet arranged the ingots into neat pyramids and nodded to themself, proud of the work well done. This offering was generous—nine gold ingots. Warm fires of the braziers and candles danced on the surface, making the gold look as if it were fire solidified.

More gold meant more eager visitors who would want to loot the Shrine—but would meet their doom here. Renpet didn’t know whether their Lord liked such offerings—nothing seemed to please their Prince anymore. But at least Renpet and their kindred would have some fun and add to the Shrine’s treasures anything of value that they would find on the bodies of their guests.

Renpet cut the molten wax from a few candles that had started forming a threatening mound on the holder, then put it into a bowl. It could be melted again and form new candles.

Some of the guests—pilgrims, not plunderers—were thoughtful to bring candles as a part of their offering. The fire in the braziers was maintained by magic, but the candles were plain, material. It was also nice when the pilgrims brought dry herbs that Renpet could through into the braziers to scent the air. Maybe it didn’t make their Lord feel better, but it made the Shrine feel more welcoming.

Renpet looked the Shrine over and sighed. So much offerings, everything that their Lord should have liked—blades, armour, ingots, even some pelts and rare alchemical ingredients,—and devotion of the pilgrims was admirable, for they had to climb onto this mountain at the coldest end of the world, overcoming many perils, and squeeze themselves through the narrow passage in the ice.

But Renpet’s Lord didn’t visit this Shrine very often.

Which made Renpet feel abandoned most of the time.

Doors of the Shrine groaned, shaking Renpet out of their melancholy thoughts, and Renpet contemplated cloaking themself in shadows and waiting until the guest went away. That it was a pilgrim Renpet had no doubts, for if it hadn’t been, Renpet’s kindred stationed outside would have taken care of the intruder. Sometimes, though, the pilgrims didn’t find anything strange in having a talk with an unbound dremora, and Renpet could enjoy some company.

Renpet did decide to cloak themself first and watch the guest, so they uttered the necessary syllables. Shadows enveloped them in a tight embrace, and Renpet stepped behind a column.

The visitor was an odd one. They were dressed too lightly for the location of the Shrine, wearing only dark robes with a hood, and didn’t carry any weapons. What they did carry was a sack in one hand and a bottle in the other. By the sloshing sound made especially loud by the visitor’s swaying gait Renpet guessed that the bottle was already half-empty.

The visitor looked around with bleary eyes, and smiled wide and charming, gaze stopping at exactly the spot where Renpet was hiding. ‘Come on out!’ slurred the visitor, saluting with a bottle, then promptly drinking from it.

Renpet had met some strange characters during their service in this Shrine, but none of them had been quite this loud. And none of them could see Renpet when they were cloaked. Maybe whatever was in the bottle enhanced the guest’s senses?

‘Come on, don’t make me wait!’ the guest cried out again, and lifted the sack. ‘I’ve a gift for your master, but I’ll have you give it to him directly, not let it rot in this place.’

Obviously, the contents of the bottle might have enhanced the guest’s senses, but they also wiped out their humility and ability to experience fear. Along with rational mind.

Renpet winced as they considered their options. They didn’t like inflicting pain on the pilgrims. Plunderers were another thing entirely, of course, but if you hurt or kill enough pilgrims, they would stop coming at all.

The guest’s mood changed abruptly, and not only the mood. Their whole posture changed, the wobbliness was gone entirely, they lowered their hands and their face hardened. ‘You are making me repeat,’ the visitor hissed.

And for a single moment, their eyes became absolutely black with red stars in them.

Renpet dropped their cloak immediately and stepped under the light of the candles, then bowed. ‘My Lord Sanguine, I didn’t know—’

A sleeve brushed before Renpet’s eyes, and they looked up.

The same twisted smile was back on the Lord’s face, and their eyes became human-normal, if rimmed with red irritated skin. ‘The journey was not very pleasant, and I am tired.’ Their speech became more cheerful and slurry, but something in the eyes remained hard and regal, compelling Renpet to obey.

The bitter wrath of Lord Dagon was terrifying, but the Clans spoke hushed tales about the things the Prince of the Myriad Realms could do in a foul mood.

‘You have spoken about some gift, my Lord Sanguine,’ Renpet whispered, head still lowered.

The Prince frowned, and blinked. ‘Have I? Oh yes. Here, hold this.’ The bottle was trusted to Renpet, and they held it in trembling hands. The fetor coming from the mouth of the bottle was terrible, sweet and rotten.

The Prince was rummaging in the sack, then cursed under their breath, turned the sack upside down and shook it. Little by little, coerced by the Prince’s furious shaking, the gift finally emerged. Sanguine caught it with one hand, threw the empty sack on the floor, and held up the gift with triumph in the bleary eyes. ‘The gift for my Lord Dagon!’ The Prince’s lips pulled from their teeth that suddenly turned into sharp fangs, making their lax face look contorted in pain.

Renpet tore their eyes from that face with difficulty. And blinked at the gift. ‘Gauntlets?’ They looked like gauntlets, only made from leather and with white fur. And they looked very... soft.

‘Wha...? No, silly dremora, it’s mittens!’ Sanguine slid the mittens on their hands, and clapped. The sound was muffled. There was a dark stain on one of the mittens that reeked of the same stuff that was sloshing in the bottle Renpet was holding.

‘Look at how big they are!’ the Prince continued with the sort of malicious glee that made Renpet ache to go back to the Deadlands. ‘Fit for your dear master!’ The Prince rubbed their chin with one mitten, suddenly thoughtful. ‘Though they are probably of no use in that realm of his. But certainly useful here!’ With that cheerful note, the Prince tugged the mittens off and piled them on Renpet’s hands. ‘So. Give them to him as soon as possible, yes? But don’t, ah, don’t tell him they are from me, yes?’

Renpet nodded to both of these ‘yes’, dumbfounded.

The Prince reached for the bottle, then waved. ‘Eh! Leave it for yourself. It’s the holiday! The start of the new year! Share it with those two outside. They must be freezing their horns off.’ With that, the Prince turned and started to the exit, murmuring to themself, then stopped, shook their head, and, snapping their fingers, disappeared.

Peering at the empty space, Renpet took a sip from the bottle and doubled over gasping as the drink burned them from the inside. But, coughing, they managed to save the mittens from falling on the floor. They couldn’t even think of disobeying the capricious Prince.

But they could wish for return to the Deadlands. Or better, for visiting their Clan in a Realm far, far away from any Princes.


End file.
